The Child of Gilean
by Hyena Cub
Summary: Snape is a bit more than what he seems.


_Author's Note: This is based on a dream my cousin had, and she has given me permission to write a story on it! "Gilean" is pronounced with a hard "g" sound as in "gate", not "gel". She also gave several good suggestions for improving the story, so here is the revised version!_

_Rated PG for mildly disturbing concepts._

**The Child of Gilean**

Potions class, as per usual, was horrid. Snape was apparently in quite the foul mood that day, because he had been more horrible than normal. Poor Neville had been near tears for Snape's scathing remarks about his potion, and Harry had ten points taken from Gryffindor because he'd spilled half of his on the ground. 

Harry did not dislike potions generally, and realized that he could really enjoy this class were it not for Snape and the Slytherins! And Draco and his gang, always laughing and enjoying the show... 

"Snape sure is a git," Ron grumbled, shaking Harry out of his bitter reverie. The two boys were walking as rapidly as they could from the dungeons, not wanting to spend any more time in Snape's vicinity than necessary. 

"Boy, you said it," Harry muttered. "Where's Neville?" 

"I dunno; I saw him rushing towards the dormitory, but I think he might've been crying. Prob'ly didn't want to be seen by the Slytherins." 

Harry sighed quietly. "Yeah, and I'm sure a fair few Gryffindors would laugh, too. I don't blame him though. I don't think Snape hates Neville as much as he hates me, but he's meaner to Neville. I can't figure that one out." 

Ron snorted. "Don't try and figure out a git's mind. It'll just give you a headache." 

"Yeah." Harry said no more, and Ron seemed to sense he didn't want to talk any further on the subject. 

Harry's thoughts regarding Snape remained quite dark as the two boys followed most of the other Gryffindors to their tower common room, ducking into the dorms to put their schoolbags away. Harry was quite grateful that Potions was their last class of the day; that meant that at least he had the rest of the night to himself, and could avoid the Slytherins and their Head of House. 

He spent more time than necessary at his bedside, arranging his things neatly away. He told Ron to go on ahead, which he did, and when the other boys were gone, Harry took several moments to cool his temper. 

By the time Harry got to the Great Hall, his spirits were a little higher, and his anger with Snape had had time to diminish. 

Neville was, indeed at dinner, and looked as though he had washed his face; he certainly looked less frantic than he had during class. "All right there, Neville?" Harry called across the table. 

Neville gave him a self-conscious smile. "All right, thanks. You?" 

Harry surprised himself by laughing a little bit. "All right. A lot better than I was an hour ago, at least." 

As the students around him ate, and talked, and Hermione and Ron got into an argument about the History of Magic essay that was due the next Monday, Harry remained silent. He knew Snape had hated Harry's father, but wondered why this hatred had spilled over onto him. Harry had never done a thing to Professor Snape before Snape began bullying him - it would never make sense to him why anyone should hate a person because of their parents. 

He sighed quietly and glanced up to Professor Snape, who seemed to have a very small amount of food on his plate. No wonder he's so scrawny, Harry thought rather unkindly, he never eats. Now that he thought about it, though, he realized Snape rarely did eat anything much. 

Shrugging, he turned to his own plate and finished his meal. 

--- 

After dinner, Harry and Ron headed up towards Gryffindor Tower. "Where's Hermione?" asked Harry. 

Ron snorted. "She's in the library, just for a change." 

Harry laughed. "All right. I bet that before she graduates Hogwarts, she'll have read the entire library--" Harry broke off suddenly, as he put his hands in the pockets of his robes. "My wand! My wand's gone!" He checked every pocket of his clothing, but there was no doubt; his wand was not in any of it's accustomed- or unaccustomed - places. "I must have dropped it somewhere." 

"Well, maybe you left it upstairs..." 

"Yeah, maybe..." Now very annoyed with himself, Harry tromped up the rest of the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. And after a quick search of the common room and the dorms, he asked several others if they'd seen it. No one had. 

"Maybe you left it in Snape's classroom," Ron suggested. "I remember you having it there last." 

"Fantastic," Harry sighed. "I guess I better go look before it gets too late." 

"All right, well, see you later then, mate." 

Harry nodded, and crept back through the portrait hole, ignoring the Fat Lady's grumbling. 

Guess I just can't get enough of Snape's class, Harry thought wryly, laughing quietly to himself. Well, at least Snape shouldn't be there that late; he would more likely be in his office or his quarters. Harry frowned at this thought, wondering just where the teachers did sleep! He was fairly sure that Dumbledore's quarters were above his office; he supposed that the other teacher's sleeping quarters were next to or somehow joined with their offices. It was a weird thought, thinking of his teachers sleeping and doing all the normal things a student would. 

As Harry set foot into the dim hallway leading to the dungeon classrooms, he stopped short, his eyes going wide. There was a brief, sudden sensation that someone had just leaped into his mind, and then, a voice in his head. It was clearly in his head, not spoken aloud, and his first thought was that it was the basilisk. But no, that had been a voice aloud, not a voice in his head. 

_I don't know who you are,_ said the voice. _And I care not. But my name is Gilean._

It was a soft baritone that somehow still held a great deal of power. It reminded him, in a way, of Dumbledore's voice; though there was a darker, older feel to it. The name seemed familiar, too; Hermione would surely know it! Harry thought for a split second of running back up to Gryffindor Tower and taking her aside to tell her about this frightening occurrence, but a moment later the thought had left his head. 

_I would not tell you this, but for the great need of your assistance. I am the first vampire, the father of all those created. Severus Snape is one of my children._

Harry could have fallen over then, had he not been so close to the wall. As it was, so great was his shock, that he stumbled as if struck. His back against the wall, his wide eyes staring at the dimly lit stone wall opposite, he could only gape and say nothing. The voice continued. 

_To reduce his need for blood sustenance, when he feels the craving, he entrances himself in his quarters, connecting mind to mind with me. With my power, I can reduce his need, and allow him to take some small sustenance from mortal food. I do this for many of my children. He lies within his bedchambers, under attack by forces unknown, who take his soul from my awareness. I know not who has this power, but I do know that were he to slip any farther, he will soon be under their control, and lost to me. And to you and yours. You must rouse him from this trance; I am several hundred miles away, and cannot get there quickly enough. You are the only one close enough now to help._

Harry's first thought was: no way! Busting into Snape's quarters because a voice in his head told him to was not the brightest or sanest of ideas! Not to mention he hated Snape's guts, and felt a stubborn aversion to helping him. But as soon as the thought occurred, Harry bit his lip, ashamed of it; animosity was one thing, but if this...whoever and whatever he was...was correct, then Snape's life could be in danger. 

After a brief mental conflict, Harry thought as hard as he could, _Where are his quarters?_

To his relief, the voice heard and was able to direct Harry to where Snape slept, and as he had suspected earlier, Snape's bedchambers were adjacent to his office. The door was locked, which elicited a growl of sheer frustration from Harry, and he sprinted into Snape's classroom. His wand! He needed his wand! 

Ducking under the table he had sat at for class, Harry felt around until his hand hit something that skittered away at his touch. Encouraged, he felt around a little more gently, and grasped a slim bit of wood. On drawing it into the light, he saw with relief the familiar holly wand. He took a big breath and ran back to Snape's office. 

"Alohomora!" he cried, and the lock on the office burst open. He was feeling a strange sense of urgency now, and his instinct told him that this voice in his head was telling the truth, and if he didn't hurry, Snape would be dead. Or maybe worse; this Gilean had said Snape's soul was being pulled by an outside force. Harry thought of the Dementor's Kiss, and shuddered. 

A second "Alohomora!" and the door to Snape's chambers was open as well. 

Harry took a split second to orient himself; large, open room, very little decor. Wardrobe, chest of drawers, trunk, comfortable-looking, high-backed chair. And the bed? Harry glanced around quickly and caught sight of the four-poster in the far corner of the room. The curtains were drawn. Feeling a split-second's worth of fear (he was in Snape's _bedroom!_), he crept over and pulled the curtains open. 

What he saw made him gasp; Snape lay on his back with his eyes closed. His face was dead white, and his mouth slightly open; Harry could see two sharp fangs that he was quite sure were never there when Harry interacted with Snape! And he should know; Snape snarled at Harry quite enough for him to notice whether he had fangs or not. Why now? 

He cast the question aside and bit his lip, cautiously grasping Snape's arm. Trying to ignore the feeling that if he got caught, he was in big trouble, he gently shook Snape's arm. "Professor?" he said. He shook more vigorously. "Professor! Professor!" 

He frowned, steeling his nerve, and slapped Snape's cheek hard; Snape did not stir. That settled it! If Snape didn't waken and bring down his wrath on Harry for striking him, then Snape was in trouble. But how else could Harry wake him? He spied a pitcher of water on the chest of drawers... 

_Will water hurt him? _he demanded of the voice in his head, hoping it would hear. He did not know a lot about vampires, as when Lupin had set them the essay, Harry had been quite distracted in general. He remember something about water being harmful, but... 

_Only if it is holy water, will it harm,_ said the voice of Gilean, and to Harry's astonishment, the voice sounded worried. Frowning, Harry seized the pitcher of water and emptied it onto the professor's face. 

Nothing. 

Harry stood next to Snape's bedside, shaking the slightest bit, feeling panic start encroaching on his mind. He thought briefly of getting Dumbledore, but what if he were too late? He had no idea what the current password to his office was, and what if he wasn't there? 

He closed his eyes and forced himself to think. What could draw Snape's soul back here? What could bring a vampire's soul back to his body? 

And came the answer, so obvious that Harry felt like an idiot having not thought of it before; blood. 

But then, with this answer, he felt a bit sick. How could he use this information? The idea of cutting himself open was an intimidating one, and he had no blade. A thought occurred, and though it seemed to be a long shot, it was all he had. 

Harry knelt by Snape's bed, biting his lip and taking Snape's hand in his own. Trying to ignore how frightening and strange and surreal this was, shivering at how chilly the Professor's hand was, Harry pressed his other hand against his own throat and searched for the pulse. He noticed distractedly that it was a good deal faster than normal! Trying not to think of how dangerous it was to tempt a vampire with blood, especially at a time when he was working on the most primal of instincts, Harry put Snape's fingers against the swift beat in his neck. 

For several seconds, there was only silence. Though Harry could feel Gilean's presence still in his mind, the ancient vampire was being silent. Harry felt his own pulse pounding in his head, now, and felt the shaking in his limbs. He began counting his pulse beats out aloud, his eyes closed, his mind concentrating on keeping his fear in check. 

After what seemed several hours to Harry, he felt a twitch in Snape's hand, felt the fingers dig into his skin. His eyes flew open in time to see Snape's own eyelids rise. For a split second, Harry saw something very like what he'd seen in Lupin's eyes when Lupin faced the full moon and began his transformation into an unnatural beast. For just a moment, there was something bestial in Snape's eyes...and then he slowly turned to look at Harry. 

Realizing he was still holding Snape's hand, Harry quickly released it and stood, feeling his face begin to burn hot. Would Snape know why he was here, or what happened? Would he wonder why in the name of Merlin Harry was standing in his bedroom holding his hand? Harry's face turned yet a bit hotter in embarrassment, and he took a couple of steps away, watching. 

_Thank you, _said Gilean softly, and Harry could feel the gratitude behind the words before all trace of the vampire's presence faded gently from his mind. 

For a minute or two, Snape said nothing. He sat up, frowning slightly, but was not looking at Harry, exactly. Harry wondered if he should say something, or wait for Snape to speak, or if he should simply slink out of the room. In the end, he reckoned it would be best to wait. 

Snape was silent, looking alternately at Harry, and the rest of his surroundings; he seemed to be listening to something. Gilean, Harry thought. Snape dazedly wiped the water from his face, and Harry saw that his hand was shaking. And in his eyes, Harry saw fear, and wondered at it. He had never thought to think that Snape could be scared of anything. He tried to make himself ask if he should get Madam Pomfrey, but couldn't quite speak. 

Snape closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked at Harry, and it was not the look Harry was accustomed to. No loathing lurked in his eyes, no hatred or anger. To Harry's shock, Snape looked scared. "It is a very dangerous thing, Potter," he said softly, in a voice that shook the slightest bit, "to tempt a - a vampire's appetite with human blood." 

Taken aback by Snape's tone, his strange look as if he were seeing Harry for the first time and indeed his admission to being a vampire; Harry found his own voice not very steady. "I-I know." 

"Why did you risk it? Why help me?" 

"W-well...well that...Gilean...he asked me to help. And I knew, well, that your life could be in danger. And he said something about your soul being pulled from you, and I thought about the Dementor's Kiss..." he shuddered, quite involuntarily. "And I didn't think even you deserved that." His face, which had cooled down a bit, suddenly felt quite hot again as he realized how his words had sounded. "Er, I didn't quite mean it to sound like that. It's just, well...Dumbledore trusts you. We're on the same side. We don't...I mean...we don't have to like each other to be allies." 

Snape did not get angry. His face did not contort into a snarl, nor did his eyes narrow. He gazed at Harry for a moment before nodding in agreement. "I could not have fought it much longer," he said finally. "And my soul would have been lost to me. Thank you." 

Harry goggled at him. Of all the words he had expected from Snape's mouth, those were not even in the top thousand. He could not know, as Snape did, just how dangerous it had been, doing what Harry had done. Indeed, had it not been for Gilean's presence in his mind the moment his soul began returning to him, he would have attacked Harry out of sheer instinct. 

After a moment, Harry regained control of his jaw, and shut his mouth. "You're...you're welcome, sir." He took a big breath, closing his eyes for a moment, and feeling the tension and fear finally beginning to leave his body. 

Snape nodded once more, then glanced around again, this time seeing the empty water pitcher. A crossbreed of scowl and smile twisted his mouth and he wiped again at the moisture on his face. "I see you made every effort to be conventional," he remarked dryly, his voice less shaken. 

"I, er...yes," Harry admitted, his face heating yet again as he recalled his panicked actions. He fervently hoped Gilean never informed Snape that Harry had slapped him. "Professor?" he asked after a moment. "Who...who was attacking you?" 

At this, Snape's expression did harden, and he scowled alarmingly. But Harry quickly realized this was a reaction to his attackers, not Harry's question. "The Dark Lord's followers," he said quietly, the tremor returning to his voice. "With far more power than I ever remember them having. Power I, myself, never had. Somehow, the Dark Lord has empowered his few elite with the ability to steal and ensnare one's soul." 

Harry's eyes widened, a surge of alarm going through his body. "A-and they can attack anyone? Even here at Hogwarts?" 

"I am uncertain," said Snape, his voice beginning to lose its shaken quality. "I suspect my trance made me more vulnerable to their attack. And...I suspect they have a strong desire to- to reconvert me. Or failing that, to punish me for my desertion." He took a deep breath and rose to his feet, shaking slightly from exertion. "I must inform the headmaster at once. And Potter...you must not speak of this to anyone, save Dumbledore. Understood?" 

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir." At first he thought that he would tell Hermione and Ron anyway, but on second thought realized that would be a breaking of trust. And after this tentative understanding between himself and the Potions teacher, Harry felt he should keep his word. He remembered how Hermione had kept her Time-Turner a secret...he had been annoyed with her, but he also realized that she'd had a very good reason for doing so. 

"Return to your dormitory, Potter," said Snape. Though his voice sounded almost normal, it lacked the contemptuous bite it usually held when speaking to Harry. 

"Night, Professor." 

Snape nodded, and Harry dashed up the stairs, suddenly eager to get out of the chilly dungeon, to put some distance between himself and the shocking events of the last few minutes. 

Harry ducked into an unused classroom nearby, softly shutting the door and leaning against it, his breathing rapid and his heart rate still higher than felt healthy. As he heard Snape pass the door on his way to Dumbledore's chambers, Harry took several deep, slow breaths, to calm himself down. Now that it was over with, Harry felt himself starting to shake once more. 

It was incredible, the whirl of thoughts that coursed through Harry's mind. Snape thanking him, and not getting angry at him once. The Death Eaters having the power to attack one's soul. Snape willingly informing Harry of what had happened, and being afraid! 

And...a vampire. _A vampire! _Though he might not have had trouble imagining Snape as one, he never would have actually thought he was! He remembered once, after Professor Lupin had left in Harry's third year, that Dean Thomas speculated on what they would get next for a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. "Maybe a vampire!" he had suggested hopefully. 

Harry started to laugh, in fact could not stop for several moments. When the slightly hysterical urge to laugh had passed, Harry smoothed his hair (as best as could be done), straightened his robes, and turned to open the door. 

To his amazement, not fifteen minutes had passed between the first of Gilean's words, and leaving Snape's office. It felt like he'd gone through about five days! When he stepped into the warm glow of the Gryffindor common room, nearly everyone was still up and as noisy as ever. Fred and George were showing off their latest Skiving Snackbox, and Ron was trying to catch his owl, Pigwidgeon, who was hooting shrilly as he fluttered around the room. 

"Oh, there you are, Harry!" said Ron, abandoning his hunt for the moment and approaching him. "What's wrong? You look really pale." 

"Nah, I'm all right. It just took forever to find my wand; it got kicked under one of the tables." Which was true, really; he had found it under a table. "Why's Pig out?" 

Ron rolled his eyes. "He's just back from delivering a message, and feeling pleased with himself." Ron finally used a Summoning Charm to get Pigwidgeon into his hand, where Harry could swear the owl was giggling at Ron. Grumbling, Ron went to put the owl away in his cage. 

Harry's dreams that night were unsettled. He did not remember many of them, but he rather thought there were both Dementors and vampires in them, which was not entirely comforting. 

--- 

In the days that followed, Harry noticed something extraordinary. Though he and Snape were nothing like best friends, and never would be, Snape no longer took every opportunity to harass and torment Harry in Potions class. He didn't take off points for fabricated reasons, he didn't berate him or announce how dismal his potions were to the class. Harry even imagined he was less horrible to Neville as well. Snape did, of course, have his sour moments, or moments of annoyance towards Harry, but on the whole his experiences in Potions class were a lot less unpleasant. 

Draco and his cronies were baffled. He asked Harry once just how he was sucking up to Snape, and Harry laughed. He laughed aloud, and said nothing, leaving Draco staring at him as if he were quite mad. Let him wonder, Harry thought. Let him wonder. 

FIN 


End file.
